‘Going to see my nan,’ I told him, and he made a face.
‘Worse is she?’
‘Good days and bad days,’ I said. It was that I found difficult really. I didn’t like not knowing how she would be when I got to her room. ‘Have you seen the graffiti round the side?’
Cyril rolled his eyes. ‘No. What is it this time?’
‘Very badly spelled. Fairly offensive.’
He shrugged. ‘Well it’ll have to wait. This fence needs mending, then I’ve got to do the leaky shower on the top corridor, and that new lady down the end’s got a window in her room that won’t open, and another one that won’t shut.’
‘Can’t you just paint over it? It won’t take long.’
‘You’re supposed to be the artist,’ said Cyril. ‘You do it. There’s paint in the shed.’
‘Maybe I will,’ I said, ignoring his comment about me being an artist. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘Not if I see you first,’ said Cyril, like he always did, and I carried on to the dementia unit.
I found my grandmother in their lounge – much smaller than the one at our end of the building because other than the occasional choir, they didn’t have much entertainment – looking out of the window. I wondered what she was seeing, because she didn’t seem to be focusing on the cloudy sky or the plants outside.
‘Hello, Nan,’ I said. I sat down next to her and took her hand. Someone had painted her fingernails and that touch of kindness made my eyes fill with tears again. She’d always been really smartly turned out, my nan. I’d written that on her “all about me” form that was kept next to her bed for her carers to look at.
‘You look nice,’ I told her. She turned to look at me, with her sharp eyes searching my face.
‘Stephanie,’ she said.
My heart leapt. ‘That’s me, Nan. How are you?’
‘I’ve been dancing.’
‘Have you?’ They often played music for the residents in this part of Tall Trees. ‘Who did you dance with?’
She leaned towards me. ‘Just myself,’ she said. She patted my knee with her manicured hand. ‘Never rely on a man,’ she said. ‘Independence. That’s what a girl needs.’
‘You’re right, Nan.’
‘I’ve got a granddaughter,’ she said. She sat up a bit straighter, looking proud. ‘Stephanie, her name is. She’s independent.’
I nodded. ‘That’s me, Nan. I’m Stephanie.’
She blinked at me. ‘Well I never.’
I looped my arm through hers, giving her a squeeze. ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘They’re twins, you know? Stephanie and Max. A pair. A rightpair of Charlies, I always call them.’ She chuckled and I breathed in sharply.
‘I know, Nan.’
‘Stephanie?’ Nan said. ‘Where’s Max? When is he coming to see me?’
I’d known it was coming but it never got any easier. One of the nurses in the unit had told me to go along with Nan’s forgetfulness, telling me it was distressing for her to be corrected all the time. It was certainly distressing for me to have to tell her the same awful thing over and over. And so I tried to smile, even though my mouth didn’t want to move in that way.
‘Max is …’ I breathed in deeply, trying to think of the right words. ‘Busy,’ I lied. ‘He’s busy.’
Nan looked at me fondly. ‘He’s such a good boy,’ she said. ‘Is he on holiday?’
I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t exactly a holiday and Max wasn’t exactly what you’d call a good boy. ‘He is away, yes.’
